


May Death Never Stop You

by BloodyAbattoir



Category: Black Parade - My Chemical Romance (Album), Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys (Album), My Chemical Romance, Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge - My Chemical Romance (Album)
Genre: Alcoholism, Alternate Universe, Angels, Angst, Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Deals With The Devil, Deus Ex Machina, Drug Abuse, Drug Use, Ethical Dilemmas, Excessive Drinking, F/M, Fallen Angels, I Brought You My Bullets You Brought Me Your Love, Murder, Negligent Homicide, No happy endings, Plague, Post-Apocalypse, Presumed Dead, Songfic, Starcrossed Lovers, The Black Parade, The Black Parade Is Dead, Toxic Relationships, Vampires, Vigilantism, Women in Refrigerators, accidentally killing someone, but not really, divine intervention, making a deal with the devil, real person fiction - Freeform, three cheers for sweet revenge
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-30
Updated: 2019-10-27
Packaged: 2020-03-29 17:07:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 9,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19024258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BloodyAbattoir/pseuds/BloodyAbattoir
Summary: A tale of two star-crossed lovers that spans the generations, told between the cracks in the vinyl.





	1. Romance

**Author's Note:**

> This officially isn't really 'real person fiction' or anything. 'Gerard' here isn't 100% Gerard Way himself, the real artist/singer/etc. Instead, 'Gerard' in this story refers to the various characters that Mr. Way has portrayed as My Chemical Romance frontman, e.g. the leader of the Black Parade, Party Poison, etc. Similarly, 'Helena' within this story is based heavily off the character from the music video of the same name, and is intended to be 'Gerard's wife type thing, NOT a family member.

Throughout history, love has not always been fair. In fact, many have been cursed in matters of the heart, and doomed to never be with the one that they desire.

 

The tragic tales of these star-crossed lovers has captivated generation after generation, and have been told millions of times. There are various renditions of them, known across the world, in every language and every country. Helen of Troy and Paris, Romeo and Juliet. Belle and the Beast, Peggy Carter and Captain Steve Rogers. Nearly everyone has heard of at least one of these pairs, if not all.

 

Yet little is known of the tale of Gerard and Helena, who are quite possibly the pair who've suffered the most throughout time.

 

Herein lays their tale, sealed within the vinyl of the records of the once-popular punk-rock quintet 'My Chemical Romance', waiting to be pieced together by the willing souls who have the courage to do so.

 


	2. Honey This Mirror Isn't Big Enough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One drunken fit of rage sets off a series of catastrophic events.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The year is 2001. This is not quite our own world, but one that is parallel to it. In this world, the lines between this world and heaven and hell blur more frequently than in ours. Vampires are just as real as the girl sitting next to you in class, albeit more terrifying and less frequently encountered. While the few vampires that exist tend to keep to themselves and have precious little to do with humans, they are the big bad boogeyman that everyone is afraid of, instead of terrorism or chemical warfare or some new supervirus or HIV or AIDS.
> 
> In this world, 9/11 was not a day that planes and skyscrapers merged in brilliant explosions and plumes of smoke and senseless violence and fear and death. Rather, it was the date that a group of teenagers, stoned and foolish and perhaps a little too brave or naive for their own good explored tunnels far below the city of New York, seeking thrills. What they uncovered instead were vampires that had long been in a state of hibernation in a part of the tunnels walled off by the first workmen in order to protect the city. In a fit of rage at being awoken, they fed off the fools that had ventured so far into their realm, and unsatisfied, swore to drain the rest of the human population until they were nothing but dried husks, all in retaliation for being trapped under the city for so many centuries with precious little in the way of resources.

"Gerard, you've had enough." Helena said, putting her hand on her hip and glaring at the man sitting at the table in front of her.

 

Gerard ignored her, taking another swig of the beer in his hand.

 

"You're going to drink yourself into an early grave."

 

He laughed harshly, before he said with a shrug, "The pills I'm taking counteracts the booze I'm drinking." Herein, he was referring to the other nasty habit he had, one of drug abuse. He gave a vague wave at the colored pellets sitting on the table to indicate the ones that he had yet to consume.

 

Helena sighed,before asking, "How can you do this to yourself?"

 

Gerard finally looked her in the eye. There was a wild look to him, his hair unkempt and tangled, as he rarely bothered to do anything with it when he went on these drug and alcohol binges, which entailed drinking and taking whatever he could find from the time he woke up until the time he passed unconscious, before repeating it all again. These could last weeks if they were bad enough, and as of late, they were becoming more frequent. His green eyes held a crazed gleam to them.

 

He set the bottle onto the table, before gesturing at himself with both hands. "See this vanity I'm faking? This beauty I'm faking? It helps me live my life like this." He slurred out.

 

"Life? You call this a life?! It's self destruction!"

 

"Cry all you want! I don't care how much you'll invest yourself in me!"

 

"Gerard, it's not just me! Your friends, your brother, they all want you to stop this! You're so much better than this." She pleaded with him.

 

This last statement seemed to drive him over the edge. He stood up unsteadily, swaying as the chemicals rushed to his head. He spat, "It's hard for me to stay with the words you're saying. You can't keep my brother! You can't keep my friends!"

 

He stumbled to the door, and fumbled with the doorknob, before finally throwing the door wide open. The air of late September in New Jersey permeated the room, instantly dropping the temperature several degrees.

 

Helena stepped forward, saying, "You're in no condition to go out." She laid her arm on his shoulder, but he shrugged it off. He walked outside, down the few steps in front of their house, and got halfway down the walkway towards the sidewalk.

 

She followed him, saying, "Gerard, it's cold, you don't have on a coat, and there's vampires who consider anyone outside after dark fair game."

 

"Leave me alone!" He turned, screaming at her. Then, he ran past her, back into the house, slamming the door and locking it.

 

He slid down the back of the door, tangling his hands into his hair, further mussing it. He broke down sobbing uncontrollably. Just what had he become? Was he really as bad as the monsters that he read about, that would kill just for the thrill of it?

 

Gerard passed out within minutes, courtesy of all the alcohol and drugs he had consumed. He was in a deep stupor, and certainly didn't notice when the warning sirens went off outside. He only woke up several hours after the first sirens were sounded, when he heard Helena outside yelling, "Let me in!" followed by screams of fear.

 


	3. Vampires Will Never Hurt You

The first screams from outside made Gerard open his eyes, blinking the drug-induced slumber away. He sat there for a moment, before he heard Helena screaming again, crying out for him to help her.

 

He stumbled to his feet, hands flying for the door. It was dark outside already, an unfortunate side-effect of the shortened fall days. He unlocked the door, throwing open the cheap wooden barrier. Outside, he could see two forms in the dim glow of the far-off streetlights.

 

Gerard's hand flapped at the wall like a drunken squid for a heart-stopping moment or three, before he managed to throw the switch, flooding the porch with the dull yellow of the cheap light bulb that was meant to help the couple see enough to unlock their door when they came home at an ungodly hour.

 

As poor as the lighting out there was, it was more than enough for the man to see by. In fact, for a moment, he was grateful that the light bulb was so shitty. As it stood, the little that it managed to illuminate was almost enough to make him hurl. If the light had been of the bright and strong sort that showed every flaw, like those outside of the richer homes, he likely would've passed out on the spot.

 

Helena lay sprawled on the steps in front of the tiny house. Her hair pooled around her head, and both it and her clothing were spattered with blood. Said blood came from two apparently deep puncture marks located on the side of her neck, and various cuts and scratches that littered her body from the struggle. Above her, glaring at Gerard, stood the vampire who's handiwork this was.

 

He was a gangly looking thing, long bones with skin stretched too tightly over them by hunger. He was filthy, smudges of dirt on his face, and grubby, tattered rags for clothing. His nails were more claw-like than any human's nails had the right to be, and had a thick layer of grime below them, composed of dirt and dried blood of previous victims. His eyes were wild, like a rabid animal that had never known the kindness of a human hand, even before becoming ill. Clearly, he was no longer human, and hadn't been so for quite some time.

 

Gerard let out a crazed yell, charging out onto the porch, fully intending to do whatever damage that he could to this vile being who had harmed his beloved. The vampire, obviously spooked by the insanity of the man, lept clear of the way, landing just inside the gate. By the time the man managed to get there, the vampire was already at the end of the block.

 

The energy that he'd gotten to attack left as quickly as it had come. He returned to Helena's side, collapsing limply next to her. He'd promised her, when this had all started, and the news of the vengeful monsters had hit the news, that he would protect her, that vampires would never hurt her.

 

Then, things changed. He lost his job, and had gotten turned away by potential employers and friends alike. Relationships with his remaining friends and family were strained, and all of these factors combined to form the perfect storm, tossing him right back down the rabbit hole of drugs and alcohol that he'd tried so hard to escape from. He was Alice, and he was trapped in a fucked-up sort of Wonderland-turned-Horrorland.

 

The injuries were much worse than Gerard had initially thought. The puncture wounds were much deeper than initially guessed, and the flesh around them was ripped open to expose white glimmers of bone. Blood continued to spill out onto the cold pavement, and her breathing was harsh little pants, like a wounded, frightened animal might make.

 

He needed a priest, a nurse, something, anything. He needed to save her.


	4. Drowning Lessons

Before Gerard could get any help, Helena's breathing stopped.

 

"No! You can't die yet!" He yelled, shaking her in a futile attempt to wake her.

 

Her head rolled limply on her shoulders. She was well and truly dead. This wasn't supposed to happen! No, she was supposed to live! They were supposed to get married, have kids, she was supposed to grow old with him. Most of all, she was supposed to be alive, and he was supposed to have protected her from the vampires like he had promised to do.

 

She was dead, and it was all his fault.

 

For the second time today, Gerard broke down in sobs, hysterical and heart shattering, clutching the dead body of the one he loved. He couldn't bear to part with her. Not yet. Granted, he'd never be able to bear parting with her, but this was far too early. In between sobs, he choked out, "God I'm sorry, I'm so fucking sorry, this is all my fault, but please, I can't lose her, not yet, I'll do anything, but please, it wasn't supposed to happen like this!"

 

He broke down in a fresh wave of sobs.

 

He wasn't sure how long he sat there, holding Helena's body as it steadily grew colder, covering himself in her blood and crying like a lunatic. Eventually, he heard a musical voice calling his name.

 

He looked up, catching sight of a man who looked like he was carved out of marble by the great artist Michelangelo. He wore long, spotless robes, and attached to his back were pristine feathery white wings. Even in the light of the porch, he glowed faintly. He was an angel, and probably of a higher rank.

 

He opened his mouth, and again issued the musical voice, like a harp, "Gerard Way?"

 

"Y-Yes?" Gerard whispered, hardly daring to believe it. As a child, his grandmother had told him about angels that occasionally gave aid to those in need, and answered prayers as well. However, as time wore on and the earth became more corrupted, these encounters grew exceedingly rare.

 

"You've prayed for the soul of the dearly departed to be returned to you after being slaughtered by a godless being." He stated.

 

The man nodded quickly.

 

"As God has little tolerance for these beasts of Hell, He has passed judgement onto this particularly unusual case."

 

"He has?" Gerard asked, anticipation building uneasily in his stomach.

 

"Yes. Your prayer will be granted in return for a sacrifice on your behalf."

 

"A sacrifice? What do you mean?" Gerard asked, confused.

 

"As you have done great wrongs in this life, and have hurt many people, you must redeem yourself to not only save your own immortal soul, but to bring your beloved back to life." The angel said.

 

"What do I have to do?" He'd already promised to do anything. He wasn't going to go back on his word, not now, especially after he'd already been offered a second chance at a life that he'd pissed away.

 

"You must rid this world of one thousand evil men and women. Only then will you be reunited with her."

 

"So I've gotta kill a thousand people?"

 

"One thousand _evil_ people." The angel corrected him.

 

"How will I know if they're evil?"

 

The angel tossed something at him, which Gerard barely managed to catch.

 

'It' turned out to be a large old-fashioned pocket watch, made of a tarnished silver, on a long chain, like that of a necklace.

 

The man look at it, a befuddled look on his face. How would something that looked like it had come out of a trunk of his grandfather's old things or an antique store help him kill a thousand evil people?Before he could ask anything, the angel was gone. He was set on a path to complete a mission that he didn't know if he could handle, and had no idea how to go about it.

 

Gerard would have nightmares of this night for months to come.


	5. Our Lady of Sorrows

Several minutes after his encounter with the angel, an ambulance and a containment squad pulled up. They pulled him away from Helena's body, Too drained to resist, he let them lead him away, into the back of an ambulance. As the doors shut, he could see them pull a white sheet over her.

 

Numb and dissociated, he barely noticed when he was finally brought to a hospital. He was unloaded into an observation room, and locked inside. As per the hastily written protocols for vampire attack victims, he would spend the better part of the next 72 hours in here, closely watched to make sure that he hadn't been turned.

 

The moment that he was able to move freely, he made his way over to the bed. He fell face first onto the narrow matress, exhausted. Too tired to even cry, he fell asleep within minutes, despite the uncomfortable feel of the pathetic excuse for a bed below his body.

 

The next thing he knew, he was in a vast room that looked suspiciously like a train station. He could see other people moving about, with purpose, as if they were going somewhere, and others who were standing still, milling about as if waiting for someone or something. Surprisingly, it wasn't particularly noisy in here despite all of these people in one room.

 

Sitting on the bench in front of him, he saw Helena looking back at him.

 

"Gerard, why are you here?" She asked, concern furrowing her brow.

 

"I'm not sure, but look I'm sorry, I'm sorry that I wasn't there to protect you. I'm sorry that I couldn't save you, but I've found a way to fix everything.  I have one chance to put things at an end."

 

"What do you mean?"

 

"Look, we were wrong in thinking that immortality meant never dying. Immortality is never being forgotten. But you can't be remembered if you weren't around long enough."

 

"You don't make any sense."

 

"Helena, please, just trust me on this. I can solve all of this!" He was doing a better job convincing himself than her.

 

"Gerard, you're not thinking straight. I'm dead. You can't reverse that."

 

He held his hand out to her, and said, "Take my hand, stand up fuckin' tall, and never be afraid again."

 

Instead, she shrank back from him, a look of fear crossing her face.

 

Then, Gerard woke up in his uncomfortable bed in the hospital's observation unit. He felt something hard in his hand. Looking down, he saw he clutched a watch.  That meant that he truly had been given a second chance, and that he was still able to fix this.

 

Having nothing but time to kill until he was able to get the hell out of here, and knowing that the angel had given the watch to him as the answer to how he was supposed to tell whether a person was evil or not, he decided to investigate the device closely.

 

It was four inches in diameter, and hung off a long chain, maybe 30 inches long. That chain would most likely get in his way in most activities, especially fighting, unless he kept it tucked inside of his shirt. The watch itself and the chain were made of a tarnished silver, and on the back were faint engravings that were nearly worn smooth. Looking carefully, Gerard could make out something that looked suspiciously like an anatomically correct heart. For some reason, a shudder ran through him at this.

 

He flipped it over. On the front was a grill, allowing the user to see the time without opening the watch and risking damage to the glass plate. However, this grill strongly resembled a ribcage, which sent another shiver through Gerard. He pressed the little button on the top of the watch with his thumb. The ribcage flipped downwards, exposing the white face of the clock. This made him swallow hard, and a clammy feeling to creep up on him.

 

On the lower half of the face, where the brand name is usually located, instead sat a ticker with 4 small numbers, reading 1,000 in an old-fashioned font. This same font comprised the numbers around the outside of the face that would tell the time as well. The hands of the watch were what looked to be skeleton arms, with fingers pointing straight to the currently time. Around the outside of the face ran a circle, that was just under half-way red. The other half of this circle was the same silver as the outside of the watch, and looked to be a trough of some sort. Yet no matter how Gerard twisted and turned the device, the red never moved from it's position.

 

It was strange, no doubt about that, and it certainly gave Gerard the heebie jeebies, to say the least. He shut the grill of the watch, and clutched it in a closed fist. So this was what was supposed to help him. At the very least, it would apparently tell him how many more he was forced to kill to meet his  end goal.

 

Again, he berated himself on not being able to save Helena. Why wasn't he faster? Why had he fallen asleep? Why had he thrown her out of the house, with nowhere to go? What the hell was wrong wtih him? This was all his fault. He was a monster.

 

He was quickly jerked from his reverie by the watch suddenly growing hot in his hand, almost as if it had been left on a stove for several minutes. He dropped it onto the bed, muttering curses and pulling his hand against his chest. Down the hall, he could hear footsteps drawing near to his room.

 

Glancing at his hand, he saw that the skin there was smooth and pink, with no signs of having been burnt with the ferocity that he had felt earlier. Cautiously, he poked at the watch. It was warm, but not quite the hot burning thing that he had held just a moment earlier. As he looked on, he could see through the grill that the red was slowly growing, now encircling nearly the entire face. This coincided with the footsteps drawing nearer.

 

As the steps passed his room and kept on walking, the red slowly began to receed from around the face, until it was at less than a quarter of the way. [/So that's how this thing works./] Gerard thought, smiling grimly to himself.

 

3 days later, having been subjected to long intervals of bright sunlight, having been doused with holy water, made to wear silver and crosses, having large portions of the Bible read to him, and prayed over by quite a few nuns, nurses, and priests, Gerard was deemed fit to be released from the observation unit, as he hadn't been turned into a vampire from the attack. He could have told them as much himself, but he couldn't quite bring himself to care anymore. All he cared about was completing the mission he was set to do, and being reunited with his love.

 

He left the hospital that day, determined to rid the world of however many people he had to, just to save one person. He didn't care if he went to hell for it, all that mattered was seeing her again.


	6. Headfirst for Halos

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I deadass had this saved as a draft and forgot to post it. Yikes!

It was now late December of 2001. Helena had been dead for 3 months, and Gerard had been killing like a maniac to get her back. He'd spent Christmas lone, due to his family having severed all ties with him over his addictions.

 

Tonight, he was going out, hunting again, all in hopes of being a few souls closer to his goal by sunrise. Currently, he spent every single night, from sundown until sunrise prowling the streets and waiting for someone to cross his path and set off the watch, getting him one step closer to being reunited with his love.

 

He stood in the bedroom that they had once shared, getting ready for the night ahead. He tucked the watch into his shirt, out of his way. He never took it off anymore, save for a quick shower every afternoon when he awoke. He was now keeping nearly the same hours as the vampires that he used to love as a silly teen, and now loathed. Funny how a person could change in such a short time.

 

Into one jacket pocket he crammed a small gun that held a single bullet, made of silver, to kill himself should he ever be bitten. He refused to turn into a monster that took people from the ones that loved them, and vice versa. Into another pocket went a stake, and a small mallet, should he need them. He'd needed them several times over the past three months. Finally, he strapped a knife in a holder to his arm. He was ready to go.

 

Zipping his jacket and wrapping a scarf around the lower portion of his face, he looked into the cracked mirror above the dresser. He barely resembled the man he had been a mere 6 months prior.

 

Pushing the thought to the back of his mind, he exited his house, locking the door securely behind him. Outside, he pulled on his gloves and put them on, before he began to walk down the street.

 

Sooner rather than later, he would encounter someone that this earth would be better off without.

 

Tonight, it would apparently be sooner.

 

Within half an hour of wandering aimlessly, the watch began to heat up. Gerard stopped in his tracks, waiting to see what would happen next. From inside the house that he stood in front of, he could hear yelling.

 

"You're just a useless bitch!" A man's voice slurred.

 

A woman's voice answered him, a mere murmur that could not be heard by the eavesdropper. Apparently, whatever she said infuriated him, because not a moment later, the sharp crack of flesh meeting flesh rang out into the night.

 

Gerard grasped the knife, pulling it free of its holder.

 

"I'm fucking done with your sorry ass! If you're here when I get back, you're dead!"

 

The door to the house opened, shutting with a slam as the drunkard barreled out. Something told Gerard that this thing was going to go get more alcohol, and would more likely than not follow through on his threats should he return and find the woman still there. Something else told him that this was a pattern of his.

 

The watch heated up further, reaching a temperature that was near uncomfortable to have against bare skin This man was the one, then.

 

"Get the fuck outta my way, punk!" The man yelled. He was a large, ugly brute, who looked like he was used to bar fights and could easily snap Gerard in half like a small twig.

 

"Didn't you fuckin' hear me?!" He bellowed, advancing on the other.

 

Gerard stood his ground, and when the man grew close enough, he swung a drunken punch. It was easy for the smaller of the two to dodge, being sober and having a reflex faster than that of a slug. He ducked the blow, which missed him by a country mile. He raised the knife.

 

It went into the drunkard's back, making him go down with a yell of pain. Gerard stabbed him over and over again, in a frenzy. A wild look gleamed in his eyes, and for just a moment, he looked like the crazed beings you always worried about when you locked the doors at night. When he finally gained control over himself, the drunk was dead on the sidewalk in a pool of his own blood, dozens of stab wounds in his torso, and Gerard's face, hair, and clothing were splattered with his blood.

 

Gerard huffed, wiping the knife clean, before returning it to its holder. He walked off, leaving the body where it was, in search of his next 'victim'. He was determined to get this done and over with, as soon as possible. Even though there was no risk of his being caught, something about 'heaven protects those who do its bidding', he still felt a twinge of fear every time he killed, as if he were going to get sent to jail for it.

 

Before he knew it, the sky was beginning to lighten from black to a navy blue. The night was over, and he'd only encountered one evil soul tonight. The night before, none. It seemed that he was quickly depleting the area of potential targets. He wasn't certain whether to be happy about that, or pissed that it made his job harder.

 

He pointed his feet towards home, letting them carry him as he got lost in his thoughts.

 

By the time he got there, the sun was beginning to show over the horizon, coloring the sky pink and sending the first bits of light into New Jersey. By this time, most of the scum of the earth, and least, the very worse ones, would be in their homes. The vampires, too, would be skittering back to their little hideyholes as well, considering they fried in the sun.

 

Entering the bedroom, he stripped of the bloody clothes, tossing them onto the floor. He would deal with them later.

 

Groaning tiredly, he pulled on an old shirt and pair of sweats before he crawled into bed. He intended to go to sleep, wake up the next afternoon, and continue this all over again. This had been his routine for the past several months, ever since he accepted this insane mission. Somehow, he couldn't see himself living any other sort of life, even though just a few months ago, he was vastly different. No, three months ago, he was just like the men and women he hunted at night.

 

Out of habit, he took the watch from his shirt, hitting the button with his thumb. The rib cage shaped grill swung open to reveal the face of the device. It was a bit before 7 in the morning. The little ticker had moved over the past few months. It now read 817.

 

He'd been averaging around 2 bodies a night for the past 3 months. On one hand, it was good progress. On the other hand, he wished it'd move faster than that, even though he knew what that would entail. He was sick of living this nightmare. With a sigh, he shut the door and tucked the watch back under the collar of his shirt.

 

On a whim, he rolled over, opening the nightstand drawer. Inside sat several pill bottles, some filled with red pills, others with blue.

 

He clutched them, remembering why they were there in the first place. They were there because he was insane. He could remember it like it was yesterday.

 

_Gerard had just gotten home from the hell that he called school, to find his mother was home already. This was strange, considering as she was a nurse at the local hospital, he barely ever saw her, and especially not any time before 10 at night. "Hi ma!" He called to her, heading into the kitchen._

 

_"Gerard." She said, and by the tone that she used, he knew that she had something important that she needed to talk to him about._

 

_"What is it?" He asked, slightly irate. He just wanted to go down to his basement bedroom and draw for the rest of the night._

 

_"The school psychologist called. Apparently some of your teachers have gone to her, and they're all worried about you."_

 

_"Is this about the whole bullying thing with Mark and his group of dicks? I'm totally over it." Gerard said. Truth be told, no, he wasn't quite over the time that the star quarterback and some of his buddies had shoved him into the deep end of the swimming pool while he was fully clothed._

 

_"No, it's not that. She wants me to take you to a psychiatrist and have you evaluated."_

 

_"Evaluated for what?" Gerard asked sharply._

 

_"She thinks you might have depression, but she's not exactly qualified to make that diagnosis. She's just the therapist there for little problems, or if someone needs someone to talk to." Donna replied hesitantly._

 

_"I'm not depressed." He spat back._

 

_While she wanted to argue the fact, she figured that she might as well let it go. It would make things so much easier. "I know that honey, but it's not me that you have to tell that to."_

 

_"What do you want from me?"_

 

_"I made the appointment for later this afternoon. Just go and talk with this guy, that's all I'm asking."_

 

_"Fine." Gerard huffed. He didn't want to do this, but there was no way around it. His mother was already using that 'nurse' voice that she used with the patients that were acting as if they weren't going to cooperate with her._

 

_"Do you want to go change or something?" She suggested._

 

_Gerard took a glance down at himself. He was a chubby teenager with messy hair, in a band shirt and jeans that were stained with charcoal and coffee, and he had charcoal all over his hands and probably his face as well. His Chucks had seen much, much better days._

 

_"Good point." He said, exiting the kitchen and heading into his room. The least that he could do was pretend that he was fine._

 

_The ride there made him anxious as hell. He nibbled at his nails every so often, and fiddled with the radio, switching the stations a dozen times, just trying to calm his nerves._

 

_When they finally got to the office, the waiting room was packed full of people. It was hell finding two seats together. The chairs were hard and uncomfortable, and were interconnected, which would most likely make it hard as hell for anyone to lift them and throw them. For some reason, this made Gerard shudder. What kind of people were here? Certainly he wasn't like them._

 

_The room was devoid of decorations, save for a TV mounted behind a protective cage in one corner of the ceiling, blaring some talk show, and a pathetic looking potted plant in the corner._

 

_Gerard was given a questionnaire, with some of the stupidest questions that he had ever encountered. However, he did his best to answer them, in a manner that would suggest that he was perfectly logical and sane._

 

_They waited in that cramped little room for almost an hour, before they were finally called back to talk to the psychiatrist._

 

_This psychiatrist was a man that most people wouldn't trust as a used car salesman. He had a large balding patch in the center of his head that was so oily, it reflected the light from above and practically glowed. Gerard wondered to himself whether he had ever caused a traffic accident with that thing._

 

_"What are we here for?" The man practically barked at them._

 

_"My son's school therapist suggested that he be evaluated for depression." Donna said slowly._

 

_"I see." The man replied. Then, he began to ask them both questions, the same ones that had been on the questionnaire that Gerard had filled out. He didn't bother to look up at them, preferring instead to take notes on his clipboard. He also didn't bother to even peek at any of the paperwork to find what he might be up against._

 

_Within 10 minutes or so, and a barrage of questions later, most of which were only yes or no, the doctor said, "Well, Mrs. Way,  it's obvious to me that your son Gerald here is bi-polar. More likely than not, he's going to need to be on medication for the rest of his life."_

 

_On the way home from that awful meeting, Donna stopped into the local diner, and she sat there with Gerard over coffee and pie. "It's not the end of the world."_

 

_"Really, ma?" Gerard asked sarcastically. Now, nobody would look at him the same way, they'd all call him insane. He'd be stigmatized and treated even worse than he already was. Now, even his family would treat him like that, all because of a little label._

 

 _"I promise you, nothing will change." She said, reaching over the table and clasping his hand._  

 

But she lied. After that diagnosis, many things changed. For one, the little pills that he was forced to take twice a day. He quickly figured out that the red ones helped him fly, and the blue ones helped him fall. The monthly appointments with this same twat of a doctor. Any time that he was upset about anything, people in his family asked him if he was taking his medication properly. Being called into the school therapist office every so often to be checked upon. The constant threats of hospitalization.

 

The minute Gerard turned 18, he moved out, and stopped taking his medications. He couldn't stand anything about them. Not the way that they made him feel, not the changes that came with him, and certainly not the way that people treated him afterwards. But yet, he realized something.

 

After he stopped taking the medication, he grew depressed. Then, the substance abuse to feel better. He was an ass when he was under the influence. He was drunk and high as a kite the night that Helena died. If he hadn't drank, if he hadn't taken all those pills to bury his feelings, she would still be alive. Hell if he had taken the medications that he should have, and not self-medicated, she probably would still be alive.

 

That day that his world had come crashing down around him, he wanted to tell her what was wrong. He wanted to tell her how he was feeling. At that time, he was depressed, near suicidal. He wanted her to sit there and talk to him, tell him that she loved him and that she was there for him. But yet, he shoved her away, choosing instead to drown his sorrows in a bottle and chemicals. He would give anything to go back in time and tell her how he really felt.

 

Absentmindedly, Gerard took the tops off the bottles, shaking the colored pills into the palm of his hand. He stared at them. One part of him hated them, the other part wished that he had taken them before. What harm could it do to take them now?

 

There was no one left for him to hurt, besides from himself. If he died now, he would go on to whatever the afterlife would hold. Maybe he would be reunited with Helena again. It was illogical thinking at best, but even so, it opened a dam in his tired mind. All the thoughts and emotions that he had walled off for so long, all the sorrow and heartbreak over her death, everything came crashing down at once.

 

Without thinking, he quickly tossed the pills into his mouth, swallowing them dry. Within a few moments, the rest of his pills followed. If the red ones made him fly, and the blue ones helped him fall, they should cancel each other out, right?

 

Mind disconnected from his body, he got up and crossed the room to where a half-empty bottle of Jack Daniels sat on the corner of the dresser. Unscrewing the top, he drained the remnants in several long gulps. Then, he set the now empty bottle back onto the wooden surface.

 

He got back into bed, not bothering with the blankets. He lay on top of them, arms crossed behind his head peacefully. Within several minutes, he could feel the effects setting in. Everything was getting fuzzy, and he moved too slowly. He knew that he should hear the sounds of movement outside from people getting up to go to their jobs, but they were far off and muffled. He suddenly had the feeling that everything would be okay.

 

It was almost like falling asleep.

 

As he drifted off, a refrain that he'd never heard before coursed through his brain, providing some sort of a sick lullaby.

 

_Let's go back to the middle of the day that starts it all_

 

_I can't begin to let you know just what I'm feeling_

 

_And now the red ones make me fly_

 

_And the blue ones help me fall_

 

_And I think I'll blow my brains against the ceiling_

 

_And as the fragments of my skull begin to fall_

 

_Fall on your tongue like pixie dust_

 

_Just think happy thoughts and we'll fly home_


	7. Skylines and Turnstiles

The next afternoon, Gerard woke up feeling deathly ill. He barely made it to the bathroom before his stomach twisted and his mouth filled with the foul contents of his stomach.

 

Heaving into the toilet, crouched like an animal, Gerard questioned how he'd gotten to this stage. Was he really quite so depressed as to take a handful of pills and alcohol? Granted, when he was still in high school, he'd been miserable from bullying, but he'd never attempted to take his own life. As much as he'd thought about it, even fantasized about it, he'd never taken it beyond the point of writing an angst-filled suicide note or three.

 

When he finally stopped worshiping the porcelain god and managed to stand up, he crawled back into bed. There was little point in going out tonight if he felt like he had been hit by a semi-truck and would continue to puke up his guts. He wouldn't be able to kill efficiently. After all, what was he going to do, say, "Uh, hey, evil dude I'm supposed to kill, can you like hold on a minute so I can puke up some bile into some nice old lady's flower bush?".

 

There was even less of this little point in going out if he wasn't going to encounter anyone that he would need to dispose of. After all, he'd been having less and less luck finding those who had really fucked up while walking on the street. He knew that to continue, he'd have to go into the working class to continue fulfilling the promises that he'd made.  After all, there were quite a few evil people that did not walk around the streets at night looking to kill or rob or rape. 

 

These thoughts swirling through his head, Gerard rolled over and fell into a fitful sleep.

 

A week later, he found himself in the nearest thing to a proper corporate setting as he'd ever been involved in.

 

By the time that two weeks had passed, he found himself getting quickly used to the typical human work schedule of the 9 to 5. He crashed as soon as he got home around 6, waking a bit before midnight to prowl the streets. When the sky began to lighten around 6 in the morning, he went home, catching a quick nap until after 7, then waking to prepare for another day at work, and repeating the cycle.

 

If this were his everyday working life, with nothing beyond it, Gerard knew that he'd quickly go insane. He didn't understand how so many aspired to, and even enjoyed working in an environment where you were yelled at for a crooked tie or messy hair, all for a dollar or two above minimum wage.

 

The only thing that kept him going was the knowledge that doing this was bringing him one step closer to completion. He was now hunting those that he would never be able to encounter late at night in a bad neighborhood.

 

In his humble opinion, these that he encountered here were much worse, possibly due to the fact that since they were considered 'family people' or 'religious' or 'upstanding' and held in esteem of society, they appeared to be shielded from most scrutiny. Besides that, they typically held positions of power, meaning that they could ruin lives on a much larger scale.

 

Gerard stepped into the building He rode 34 floors up in an elevator colder than a cell to the tiny set of offices where he worked with a dozen or so other people for an ad agency. The rest of the building seemed filled with various other mid-sized companies, with owners or managers of the upper class, and workers of the middle class.

 

These workers followed typical corporate drone behavioral patterns, and everyone seemed to have been a copy of someone else. Maybe this copy thing and everyone acting the same so-called acceptable way was why the watch was always hot in Gerard's pocket, to the point that he could no longer wear it under his shirt for risking burns, but rather stowed it in the pocket of his cheap blazer, where it sat like a heavy, burning coal.

 

That day, he went about his typical work of sorting ads, replying to emails, and composing emails to various people regarding commissions, acceptances, rejections, or even requests, as dictated to him by the messages that his higher-ups always stated to him in an email. While they typically had enough time to send a brief email such as, "Tell John Doe his ad was rejected from that magazine for not being catchy enough.", they never seemed to have the time to compose the proper correspondence. They made it a point to say that it was due to their being busy with other, more important tasks.

 

 

Gerard knew that they were, in reality, just fucking around, and typically spent all day on their computer, doing absolutely nothing work related whatsoever. Effectively, this meant that they got paid to come in, yell at people, and send off a few emails, while the rest of everyone worked their fingers down to the bone.

 

His scheduled lunch break in this hell hole was from 12 noon, to half past noon. However, he had gotten tied up on a phone call, and was late to going to clock out for his half hour of freedom. If the man on the other side of the line hadn't been so distraught over so much of his work being rejected, and Gerard wasn't the type of person with enough decency to at least attempt to make someone feel better, or at the least, calm down if they were in hysterics, then he might have missed what happened next.

 

The punch clock was directly outside of the manager's office, most likely so he could catch any latecomers and berate them. As Gerard stood there, attempting to slot his little paper card into the space for the time he left to lunch to be stamped upon it, he heard something, something that he'd rather not hear.

 

"Please don't." The secretary's voice floated out from inside the room.

 

"I promise you that no one has to know." The manager's voice returned.

 

"I can't do this." Her voice sounded like it was getting closer to the door.

 

"Of course you can." His voice followed her.

 

"Let go of me!" She shrieked. There was the noise of fabric ripping, and a thud against the other side of the door.

 

This was more than enough for Gerard. He grabbed the doorknob, and yanked the door open. The secretary nearly fell on him when he did so. He could see quite clearly that one sleeve of her blouse was ripped, and a piece of the flimsy fabric was held tightly in the pudgy fist of the office manager.

 

"What the hell do you think you're doing, Way?!" The other man barked at him, eyes narrowed in rage.

 

"I think that I should be the one asking you that." Gerard replied calmly, carefully maneuvering to shove the woman, obviously shaken up, behind him in a protective manner.

 

"You're fired!" The manager shouted in fury. This caused Gerard to let out a hopeless chuckle. Did he really think that that was going to hurt him? Perhaps the man had grown too accustomed to dealing with yuppies who felt their lives were over if they were passed over for a raise or promotion, much less fired.

 

"You really think that I care about that, after I heard what you were doing?" The younger of the two men raised an eyebrow along with this question. The elder of the two looked shocked at this revelation. Most people would care. What was his game?

 

Before he could utter a single syllable, however, there was a dull thunking noise, and Gerard hissed in faint pain. A singed line appeared down the side of his pants, and all three pairs of eyes focused on the object that had dropped from his person.

 

On the floor, the watch lay, surrounded by ashes and fragments of both the cloth that it had been wrapped in, and of the inside of his blazer. The other two were confused, while Gerard instantly understood what had occurred. Its tell-tale trait was to grow hot when there was an evil person in the area. However, this building was filled with evil, and as such, it was always on alert. Ostensibly, being within mere feet of an evil person would make it heat up, but since it was already constantly hot, it was now red hot, and had burnt its way through Gerard's clothing, leaving several small burns down the side of his leg on its way to the floor.

 

"I would suggest that you run." Gerard informed the secretary quietly. She nodded, stumbling away. The moment that he heard her high heels click out the office's main entrance, and the door shut, his entire demeanor changed.

 

No longer calm, he flew towards the manager, letting out a wild screech.

 

"You vile monster!" he yelled, hitting the man with the full force of his body, sending him falling flat onto his back.

 

"You're no better than a fucking vampire, preying on innocent women!" He punctuated this statement by stomping on the mans face. A howl and a crack told him that he had broken his nose.

 

"You deserve to die, you fucking pervert!" Each word was accompanied by a hard kick to the side of the ribs.

 

Then, he lost it, aiming kick after punch after blow at the scum in front of him.

 

When he finally pulled back, the man was near unrecognizable. His face was crushed in and terribly disfigured. His torso bulged in manners that shouldn't be possible, his left knee was bent the entirely wrong way, and his right arm looked dislocated.

 

Gerard felt the bile creeping up his throat. This was the worst that he had ever done. He'd done it with his bare hands, as well.  He barely made it to the trash can, before leaning over and heaving into it, the toast that he'd had for breakfast coming back up in a harsh acidic wave, along with his several cups of coffee that he'd had throughout the day.

 

Straightening up in a shaky manner, he wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, staining his sleeve. He didn't care.

 

"Hey angel, where do we go from here?" He asked to the empty room. He wasn't certain whether he was addressing Helena, or if he was addressing the angel that had given him the watch, and had occasionally given him other sorts of aid, such as leaving a paper bag of groceries on his kitchen counter one week after he'd exhausted whatever small supply of food that had been in the house, or helping him get into a job that he sure as fuck wasn't qualified for.

 

As expected, he received no answer, or at least, no answer that he could hear or notice.

 

He needed to get the fuck out of here, before someone came in and figured out what he had done.

 

On his way home, the only thing on his mind was one thought, that kept repeating over and over, like a broken record that kept skipping.

 

_After all we've seen, can we still reclaim our innocence?_


	8. Early Sunsets Over Monroeville

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gerard must face the aftermath of his actions.

When Gerard got home, his mind was moving faster than his body, but at the same time, he could focus on no singular thought. The nearest that he got was the frequent repetition of the word 'monster' in connection with himself and the people that he hunted and the vampires that had stolen his beloved. These thoughts went around his mind a thousand times over, like a cyclone, until they were so intertwined with each other that he was the people that he hunted, the people he hunted were the vampires, and the vampires were him, and all of this was topped with a great heaping helping of evil.

 

He had beaten a man to death with nothing more than his fists and feet. Was he really all that better than those who he hunted? Was he all that better than the vampires who sucked the blood out of innocent people, killing with no care or remorse? Was he better than the men who went home and beat their wives and children to the brink of death, and occasionally, into the afterlife?

 

He stumbled into the kitchen, finding the half bottle of rum that he had hidden in the back of a cupboard. Before he could properly understand what he was doing, or even question why, the top was taken off it, and the neck of the bottle, cold glass, was in his mouth, clinking against his teeth, propelling the amber liquid into his esophagus, and from there, into his stomach. He drank like a dehydrated man who had been in the desert for a week without water being handed a bottle of water, no care to the limits of its contents or the fact that it would run out, but rather, only the fact that it was there, and saving him in the present.

 

When it was empty, he threw it to the ground. The smash that it made as it hit the tiled floor and exploded into smithereens didn't register. For all he cared, he could have been watching a movie.

 

It wasn't him that had killed a man in broad daylight, in an office, beating him to death. It wasn't him that had walked into this house, confused between vampires and evil men and himself and preoccupied with the concept of 'monster'. It wasn't him who dashed in here and downed a half a bottle of alcohol like it was water, in mere minutes. It wasn't him who smashed a glass to the ground, uncaring of the debris. It wasn't him who stumbled into the room he had once shared, groping around on the top of the bookshelf.

 

He always kept it on the book shelf, all the way at the top. She was too short to see it up here, much less reach it. Plus, she was pretty damn scared of spiders, and wouldn't have risked the encounter with one.

 

His hand brushed the edge of the item that he sought, and he pulled it down. The item in question was a round cookie tin, the sweets inside long since consumed. Now, it held something far more sinister, something destructive.Panting faintly with anticipation, his fingers scrabbled at the edge of the lid, before managing to rip it off, sending it flying to the other side of the room. It hit the wall, then the floor, with a series of metallic clangs that went ignored.

 

Inside of the tin, were all of his little poisons, and the tools that he would need to use them. Bags of white powder, too many pills to count, weed, a pipe, a lighter, a mirror, and a sharp razor. They were the objects that had previously ruled his life. After her death, he had sworn off of them, but had neglected to dispose of them. Now, he was back to beg for their solace.

 

Carefully, he measured out everything. 4 large white pills, 3 gray ones, 6 long skinny poppy red ones, 2 oval lavender, 4 short, fat sky-blue pills, and a dozen or so tiny orange round ones. Two bags of cocaine were quickly split open and laid onto the mirror, cut carefully as possible into a half a dozen lines. With these, he could make everything go back to the way it was that night.

 

This time, however, he would save her.

 

The powdery white lines were quickly snorted, the pills swallowed dry. Everything almost exactly like that night. It had to work.

 

Several minutes later, he straightened up from his position hunched over the edge of the dresser. His head was swimming, and everything was moving too fast, despite being still. He turned to face the door, and his eyes grew wide. He was right. It _had_ worked. Helena stood in the doorway of their shared bedroom.

 

"Helena." he croaked out, his voice hoarse, one hand reaching out to her.

 

"Gerard." She replied. He could see quite clearly the fangs in her mouth, the deathly pallor to her face. She had been turned that night.

 

"You're a vampire." He breathed. She nodded sadly. "I'm sorry."

 

"No, no, don't be. It was my fault. I should've saved you. I promised to so many times, but I failed. Please, I've still got a chance to put things right!" He begged.

 

"I still love you." She told him, as if to comfort him. He looked relieved, if only for a moment. Then, his eyes caught sight of a glint of something metallic in her hand. "What are you doing with that?"

 

She held up the gun by the barrel, offering the grip of the weapon to him. "You have to kill me, Gerard."

 

"No."

 

"I'm a vampire now. A monster. The thing that you hunt at night."

 

"You're not! I'm the monster! I'm the one who killed hundreds! I'm the one who couldn't save you! I'm the one that threw you out that night!"

 

She shook her head. "This is something that you have to do."

 

"I can't!" He sobbed. He'd already lost her once, and he wasn't willing to lose her a second time. Especially not at his own hand. She merely smiled at him, before both her and the gun disappeared in a puff of smoke. The moment that she was gone, Gerard pitched forward. The last thing that he remembered was the sharp crack and pain of his head hitting the foot board of the bed, before everything went black.


	9. This Is The Best Day Ever

When Gerard woke up, the first thing that he noticed was that he was absolutely fucking freezing. The second was that his head was pounding rather painfully. Third, he felt as though he had been hit by a damn train.

 

Gathering his strength, he managed to crack his eyelids open just a hair. They were met by a bright white. He stared at the pristine Styrofoam tiles of the ceiling, a grid that hung heavy over the entire room. To his left, he could hear the steady beeping of what was undoubtedly a heart monitor. A sniff filled his nostrils with the dry, compressed air that only belonged to a hospital, and the strong odor of professional grade disinfectant. In the background, he could vaguely make out the hum of other machines, voices, and footsteps.

 

His mind, battered and drugged, put these things together, one by one, in a painstakingly slow fashion, before managing to come to an unpleasant conclusion. He was in a hospital. Then, his eyes slid shut again, and darkness once again claimed him.

 

Some time later, he woke up again. This time, his mind was less foggy, and the feeling of being hit with a train had considerably diminished. He also noticed that it took less time and effort to open his eyes than the last time.

 

Taking advantage of this fact, he looked around him the best that he could. He seemed to be in a large ward, with dozens of beds, and little privacy. It reminded him of the hospital wards that had been set up for the poor, or during times of great epidemics.

 

The bed directly across from him, as well as the one to his left, were both unoccupied. The bed to his right contained an old man, who was either asleep, or in a coma. The beds to either side of the one across from him contained strangers. To his left, two beds down, he managed to make out a head of dark hair, above  a familiar looking face that was half-obscured by an oxygen mask and tubes.

 

Helena was here with him, and she was on life support.

 

His eyes began to close against his will once more, and he was once again unconscious.

 

Over the next 2 days, the time periods that he spent awake began to outweigh those that he spent unconscious. Having nothing to entertain him, he quickly figured out a pattern to this place.

 

Every hour, nearly exactly on the hour, according to the clock that he could see on the wall all the way to the right end of the wall above the doors, if he squinted, the nurses drew his blood. Three times a day, they brought food for those who could eat on their own. Every 12 hours or so, the nurses were swapped for new ones, but they didn't all leave at once. Rather, they were staggered, each being replaced about half an hour after the former one. Once in a while, someone was removed from the ward, either sent to a less intense area, or taken out covered in a white sheet. Sometimes, someone else was brought in.

 

All in all, it was quite dull, and Gerard began to grow tired of it. He just wanted to get the hell out of here. He was wasting time in here, time that he could be spending completing this cursed 'mission' that the angel had given him.

 

As he lay there, plotting his next move, his strategy, his future plans, he could have sworn that he heard Helena's voice, faint and muffled, come from the body two beds down on his left hand side, say, "We can get out. We don't have to stay inside this place."

 

It was in that moment he realized that he hadn't gotten over her death.

**Author's Note:**

> I started working on this in 2014, and thought it was lost forever due to a computer crash. Thankfully, I was able to recover it. Enjoy whatever this was, five years in the making.


End file.
